Silent Hill: Death Becomes Him
by Livin In Sin
Summary: When a man wakes up in a hotel room in Old Silent Hill with no memory of who he is he must brave the town's curse in order to unravel his own mystery, he is helped and hindered by a few familiar faces. Some though are more familiar to him than others.
1. Chapter 1

You might have seen I not so long ago submitted a piece under the same name, this is a total rewrite of that, deftly and carefully thought out over a couple of days so I'm hoping since I've gone over it a few times its a bit better than last time. Honestly writing this was a bit weird because I had a little mental block when I first started writing so I actually wrote the middle and end before I wrote the beginning, you might notice a sort of break, I dunno. I'm in the middle of writing chapter 2 (as you might expect) so any input at all would be welcomed, I don't mind about you leaving reviews, message me, mail me, whatever medium suits you best, like a yappy little dog that clings to your leg (not in that way) I just demand attention regardless of medium.

As for updates I'm adamant that I'll see this one through to the end, but as I'll be attending University later in September so they might be sparse or shorter than this, in the interest of maintaining quality (which is probably unintentionally funnier than anything I've said thus far) but they will arrive eventually, probably as soon as I get a holiday.

Disclaimer: I own neither Silent Hill, any of its characters, locations, mythologies or storyline which are the exclusive property of their registered owners.

Too bad for me, maybe I could've stopped that film from being made, lets hope they get it right the second time.

Silent Hill: Death Becomes Him  
Chapter One

Something underneath him, soft, a bed, little lumpy. Something on his hands, something flaking as he rubbed his fingers together, what was it? Opening his eyes he was met with a drop of blood striking him right between the eyes, from the ceiling, on the walls. Blood. All bloody, even the sheets he was lay spread eagled on, the dried flecks between his fingers, blood everywhere. He sprang up, he would have backed against the wall but for it being covered in blood, what was going on, what had happened? His breathing was laboured, all he wanted to do was wretch, he tried to compose himself, he failed. His hands scrabbled over the door handle, finally finding a purchase as he flung himself out into the equally bloody corridor, he struck the wall, blood coating his face and he staggered backward.

Crashing to his knees he couldn't hold his bowels any longer and vomited their contents onto the blood encrusted carpet. He staggered down the corridor with his head bowed, it was a nightmare, it had to be a nightmare, it couldn't be real. He saw one of the doors ahead of him burst open, he ducked into a bathroom, terrified, acting on instinct alone. He pressed his whole weight against the inside of the door and remained curled up at its base. As hulking heavy footsteps made their way down the hall he winced with each footfall. They paused, right outside the door, he could hear a heavy breathing followed by a low growl. A shadow obscured the thin shaft of light coming through the ill fitted door almost totally, some huge figure lingering outside. Then something hammered against the door, he could do nothing but wrap his arms about his knees and bury his face like a frightened child.

And then... silence.

Slowly he raised his eyes, no blood. No smell, sight or splatter of anything even resembling blood in the dilapidated bathroom.

Slowly he stood, sliding his back up the door before looking to his hands, no blood. He rushed to the nearest sink, looked in the mirror at his face and clothes, no blood. Not a fleck of blood from his brown neck legnth locks to his brown leather jack, the unmarred white of his t-shirt and black jeans, not even on the black shoes which he knew had trekked through that gory corridor. He finally managed to reign in his breathing and a flush of pink returned to the face turned blanket white with terror.

He looked down at his hands again, clean, he turned the water on and splashed his hands in the cold stream before splashing some water on his face. He raised his head slowly, staring at the reflection in the mirror that he barely recognised, the almost gaunt cheeks and slightly crooked nose which looked as though it had been broken at least once. Lucky him.

His eyes snapped back to the door, he edged towards it, his heartbeat picking up again with every step, he took hold of the handle, softly and slowly. His heart skipped a beat as he yanked open the portal back to that bloodstained hell to reveal, nothing. A similarly unkempt hallway, but nothing at all out of the ordinary. He kept telling himself to get a grip but as he entered the hallway again he couldn't help but fear being set upon by some monstrosity. Nothing came.

He brushed his fingers against the far wall, not believing it for a moment, he peeled the paint in little flecks with his finger nails. Still no blood. He knew he'd seen it, touched it, smelled it. The scent had been so strong he could still taste it in the back of his throat, even thinking about it made him gag. Startled at this bizarre change he stumbled back down the hallway, towards the room where he had awoken.

Clean. Well, not clean, just not covered in blood. He stepped inside, leaving the door open. He looked in the bedside table, a single drawer holding a wallet, his wallet. He didn't know why he recognised it but as he knelt down and stared in to the drawer he knew that this was a part of him. It was all he had to go on anyway, he cradled it like a precious treasure as he lifted it out of the drawer. He perched himself on the edge of the bed and flipped the wallet open.

'Richard... Syme?' He wrapped his tongue around the syllables printed on the driver's license awkwardly, as if only testing them out. He thumbed through the small amount of money inside, barely thirty dollars, enough for gas, enough to get out of town. Then it hit him. 'No car keys.' However he'd gotten here he hadn't driven himself. Searching the room further yielded nothing else, literally nothing else. No clothes, no other documents, no possessions and no keys.

What kind of person checked into a hotel room with just a wallet? What kind of person woke up in a hotel room that was covered in blood?

He... no, Richard... Rick made for the door again and out into the hallway, walking briskly to the end of the corridor because he didn't want to linger too long, he still felt he should be cautious though. He crept down into the lobby, darting his eyes around like a frightened animal, he did indeed feel like he was on the run from something, some predator; something which drew heavy breaths and had heavier footsteps.

There was no one in the lobby, if it could be called a lobby, it was obvious this place was a couple of houses with the walls knocked through, but it didn't feel cheap, it had a sort of homely charm to it. Down a narrow hallway opposite the stairs Rick saw the door, pausing briefly between the two to check no one was in wither of the flanking rooms. No one, he moved to the door and passed out of it into the dense fog.

The door shut behind him with an audible bang, he tried in vain to open it again but he found he couldn't, he descended the little flight of concrete stairs to the street and looked around. He could barely see anything in such fog, he could see a little way but not as far as the other side of the street. He'd never seen fog like it, or he thought he'd never seen fog like it at least, like so many things he just wasn't sure. He started walking, partly to put some distance between him and that room and partially because he'd just realised how damned cold it was.

The fog, something was strange about it, something wrong. Just being in it made him feel hopelessly alone, but at the same time it felt terribly close, clustered. It was almost like the fog was invasive of his space, almost as though it were wrapping invisible fingers around his neck.

Richard crashed to the floor in a heap, struggling to suck the cold, crisp air into his burning lungs. He could still feel the harsh hands about his neck, but there weren't any hands at all, he'd just stopped breathing, like something was trapped in his throat. How would he forget something like that? No, something had gotten to him, something in the fog. Rick raised his head from the pavement to see something in the distance, something he'd longed for since he'd started walking, since he'd woken up.

There was a figure out in the fog, two figures, one tall, one short. Rick sped up to a jog, he could see them quite clearly then, a man accompanied by a small boy, they both had their backs to him, the man dressed in filthy jacket and brown pants, his hidden face framed by filthy long hair. The small boy seemed quite withdrawn, sticking close to the older man's leg as he clung on to him with both his small hands. The both of them turned as if as one, the boy seemingly seeking shelter from Rick's gaze behind his companion. 'Don't be scared.' the older man reassured him as Rick slowed his approach, 'You're safe.'

'Excuse me, hey you!' Rick beckoned as he grew nearer, 'Do you know the way out of town?' he asked as he came close. The man seemed to ponder this for a moment, gazing up through the fog as if he was looking for something, then something seemed to dawn on him as he answered.

'I wouldn't know the quickest way, I'm new in town, but it wont do you much good. I don't think you'll get very far.' Rick was taken aback by this, for a second he wondered if this man could know about the hotel room, the blood, but he pushed these concerns to the back of his mind.

'Still...'

The strange man pointed down the street. 'There's a Church just down there, past that there's the bridge into the centre of town, ask somebody there.'

Rick felt something tug at his jeans and in a second his eyes snapped down to the small boy who had crept out from his hiding place only to withdraw back to his shelter under Rick's anxious gaze. 'S-scuse me Mister,' he stammered, obviously ill at ease, 'have you seen my Mom around here?' The older man glared down at the boy and less than gently shoved him back away behind himself.

'Separation is tough for some children to accept.' Rick cocked his head at this, did that mean his mother was dead? Was this weird, filthy guy all he had for a foster family? 'He'll learn to cope with it eventually. Well, come on little Walter, we'd better get going or we'll be late.' The two clasped their hands again and began walking off into the fog, towards the hotel where Rick had come from.

'Hey!' Rick yelled after them, the strange man turned, a quizzical look gracing his features. 'Thanks!' The man smiled and continued walking. Rick turned in the direction he'd been given and began walking again, a little ambivalent over what he'd just seen, the man had seemed a little over eager to hush the child when the subject of his mother came up. Then again he figured he was in no position to cast suspicions seeing as how he'd woken up in a bloody hotel room only to find it pristine when he opened the door again, which he was fairly sure was indicative that he was losing his grip on reality.

Still, he carried on, it was all he could do, something strange was going on, he could feel it. Or perhaps it was the cold and fog creeping in on him, infecting him right down to his bones and the core of his being, the fog made him uneasy. He couldn't have been walking for long when he saw the Church begin to melt out of the fog, standing below the towering construct he read the sign by the door. Balkan Church, something had been written underneath but had been scratched away, probably the work of petty vandals. It must have been the Church he'd been told about and so he carried on. The fog seemed to thicken as he approached the bridge, Rick could barely see the tip of his nose never mind anything beyond.

Looking down to his feet he noticed the web of cracks in the pavement, and having nothing else to look at in the dense fog he watched his feet, a good thing too as not far ahead he would have taken quite a fatal misstep, with his leg still off the ground he observed the void beneath his foot and raised his eyes, seeing that it extended outward to where the bridge ought to have been. A strong gust of wind struck him from behind and he tettered on the edge, leaning forward and flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to reclaim his balance, as he stepped back from the edge he observed the twisted framework jutting from the waiting waters ahead of him. It seemed that there had been a bridge, maybe that was what the strange man had meant when he said he wouldn't get very far, but he had directed him to the bridge only after saying that.

With a sigh Rick turned away, he'd have to ask someone in the Church if they knew anything, if there was anybody there anyway. As he approached the Church he saw another figure in the mist, clearly this time, a girl, dark haired and wearing some sort of school uniform, pale skinned. She glanced back and their eyes met for a second before she slipped into the Church. Rick knew he needed to ask someone about the bridge, but in truth it was something about this fog which made him feel alone, that was the reason he dashed to the massive wooden doors, he wanted to find someone; so he wouldn't have to be alone any more.

Pushing the door he felt it give a little and then stop, blocked by something inside. Placing his eye to the crack he spoke soft reassuring words to the girl he figured was still inside. 'Hello, you don't have to be afraid,' rich coming from someone in his predicament, 'you can open the door, I won't hurt you.' He wasn't sure at this point who he was trying to convince. 'Hello?'

No answer. Rick stepped away from the door and let it close, sighing heavily again. Stepping around the side of the Church he walked down the side path towards a side entrance, testing the knob he found the door was unlocked it opened inwards with a loud creak as though no one had used it in a while, stepping inside Rick shut the door behind him. It was predictably dark in the Church, hardly any light had pierced the fog outside and graced the hallowed halls, tentatively Rick stepped out among the pews, seeing some piled by the door, blocking all entrance. That and his futile attempts to move them proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone was in here and that they were a little stronger than the schoolgirl he'd seen run inside.

Something dropped to the floor behind him, making a soft clink as it hit the polished floor, slowly Rick stepped back from the door and into the central isle seeing a coiled silver chain he approached, warily, checking the pews as he passed before stooping down to pick it up. His heart almost stopped as he felt the dual barrels press against the side of his head and a harsh voice bark: 'Hold it.' at him.

Rick froze, his fingertips only brushing the silver chain, he felt his breathing becoming more erratic as he stood there, petrified. He moved his eyes around in an attempt to see who it was that was threatening him only for them to jam the barrels into his head, roughly pushing his head around so he could see nothing. 'Stand up.' the voice ordered, he did so, they were behind him now. He raised his hands up in the universal gesture for 'don't pump me full of lead, man.'

'Drop it.' the voice ordered,jabbing him in the back with the gun again , having seen what was clutched in his captives right hand. As the little silver crucifix dropped from his hand Rick whirled around, grabbing the gun barrels as he did so, sweeping them aside so the firearm discharged uselessly at the floor, sending polished chips of floor tiles showering across the ground. As Rick swung about he shifted all his momentum into delivering a powerful right elbow to the face of his captor, knocking him to the ground and wrenching the gun from his hands.

He was a dark skinned man, shaved hair with a wider build which still looked as though it had plenty of strength in it. Rick didn't move to train the gun on him, he was too shocked at his own actions. 'Hey, you, you're not one of them.'

Suddenly aware of the burning sensation in his left hand from clutching the hot barrel Rick allowed the gun to clatter to the floor, but stepped between it and the man, clearly interpolating this as an aggressive action the man pushed himself away with his feet across the floor a little, still holding his nose. 'Woah, slow down, friend.'

'You had a gun trained on me!'

'Yeah, sorry. I've been a little jumpy lately, weird stuff going on in this town.' The man clambered up from the floor and offered Rick his hand. 'Wheeler, Jack Wheeler.' Rick didn't take his hand partially because he was still wary of this man and partially because said hand was covered in blood. Wheeler noted this as well and switched hands, Rick still didn't take it.

'Richard Syme.'

'Right, well you're damn lucky you ran into me Richard, Rick, mind if I call you Rick?'

'Sure, why not? I mean you've already threatened me with firearms so why stand on ceremony.'

Wheeler laughed briefly at this little bit of dark humour. Rick noted he was wearing a police uniform, but of a kind Rick hadn't seen before, probably local or from the immediate area. 'Sorry, 'bout that, its just with all the stuff that's going on in this town, things in the fog I gotta be cautious. You break down too?'

Rick paused, what was he supposed to say "no, I woke up in a hotel room from the underside of Hell?" Yeah, right. 'I was... on vacation.' he lied, or at least he assumed it was a lie, he'd been in a hotel after all. Wheeler paused before taking a seat at one of the benches, apparently he didn't quite believe the lie either. 'Say, did a little girl run in here earlier?'

Wheeler looked quite confused, 'No, that way you came in is the only door I haven't blocked off. You're the only one who's come in there.'

Rick looked back over towards the front entrance, 'I thought I saw... never mind.'

'Hey I understand. It's this town, something about it gets to you, you start seeing things that weren't really there and more strange stuff besides, hell if I know what causes it all. Hell if I wanna know what causes it all. So, what's it like out there now, you see anybody else?'

'I saw a strange guy and a kid, then I went to the bridge and... well there wasn't any bridge so I came back here. You don't know the way out of town do you?'

Wheeler gave a short melancholy laughed, hardly a laugh at all. 'If I knew the way out I'd have damn well taken it, no way I'd hang around this nut house if I thought there was a chance of getting out. I tried to go back out to my squad car but the road was... gone, just gone.'

'Gone?'

'Hey, if you don't believe me go out there and see it for yourself, don't be leading anything nasty back in here though, you walk out that door you're not getting back in.' Wheeler seemed to be afraid of something, almost irrationally so, sort of in the same way a child is scared of what's lurking in their wardrobe or under their bed at night. Then again the fog had that air of mystery to it, an oppressive and yet somehow almost passive malevolence which while ethereal managed to completely surround anyone caught out in it. 'Whoever you saw out there are probably all goners now, whatever took everybody else will have probably got to them as well.'

'Taken?'

'Can't you feel it, there's no one out there, we might be the last two people in this town by now. Everything's gone crazy and some thing's taking people out of the picture.'

'But why would anyone want to turn this place into a ghost town?'

'Told you didn't I? I dunno, I don't wanna know, I just wanna get the hell out of here.'

Rick took a seat on the bench opposite Wheeler with his head in his hands, both men seemed to have reached an understanding that neither of them was going to do anything else silly, so the shotgun wasn't a worry to either of them any more. 'I want to go home.' Rick sighed absent-mindedly, he didn't mean for Wheeler to overhear him.

'Tell me about it,' the officer replied, 'I'm not even supposed to be here, my station's in Brahms. Damn punk kids, chased 'em all the way out here, probably long gone now.' Wheeler shook his head, 'Still, damn shame.' The cop stood back up, retrieved his weapon and checked it over for damages, satisfied that it was still in good working order he turned back to Rick. 'There's a First Aid kit in the back, be a pal and go get it for me would you? Then we can take a closer look at that hand.'

Rick stood up and headed towards the back, his foot catching the discarded crucifix and prompting him to pick it up. 'Hey, this yours?' Wheeler immediately came to retrieve the chain.

'Yeah, was my granddaddy's, my grandmother sent it to me when he passed away, kind of a lucky charm... at least it's kept me alive this far.' A warm look crossed Wheeler's face as he regarded the delicate cross dangling from the chain in his hand. 'Just hope it doesn't wear off any time soon.' Rick frowned a little before proceeding further to the back of the Church, something seriously had Wheeler spooked, something other than the fog.

It didn't take long for Rick to find the First Aid box Wheeler kept on the altar, soon Rick had the burn on his palm disinfected and bandaged. 'That's about all I can do for you now, I'm afraid. I'm a little short in here as you can see.' Wheeler again occupied the seat across from him, a general feeling of melancholy had descended on the Church, after a few moments of silence Rick rose and made for the back door. 'Hey, you're not going back out there are you?' Wheeler asked, clearly concerned.

'Don't see that I have much choice.' Rick replied, continuing one towards the door.

'At least stay a while, rest a bit, this might be the last time either of see someone in a while.' Rick conceded at this and in any case he felt unnaturally tired seeing as how he'd not woken up long ago. He lay down on a bench close to the altar, placing both hands behind his head for want of a pillow. 'So, where you from, Rick? Rick?' It was already too late, Wheeler's voice wasn't going to keep him from dropping off and neither was the distant siren. The last thing Rick saw before heading into darkness was a carving of an angel, too bad, he'd never liked angels.

-

Rick shot up from where he'd been lay, adrenaline instantly hammering its way around his body as his heart worked like a piston ready to burst clean out of his chest, burning, the Church was burning. Smoke and ash began to fill up his lungs as he dropped to the floor. 'Wheeler!' he kept yelling between bouts of coughing, no answers came. He crawled out into the central aisle, making for the front door which had been partly cleared, shoving the last bench out the way he made for the door only for a colossal arm to burst through the gap and start trying to pull him through, he could see little beyond the door but a mountain of a figure, eight or nine feet at least looming in the shadows outside. He didn't want to stay in the burning building, but likewise he didn't want to go out to that thing.

Bracing his feet against the door he managed to loosen the strong grip enough so he could pull himself free and slam the door as the hand receded. Falling to the ground he rolled onto his front and there she was, the girl he'd seen run in here in the first place. Standing up he faced her, oblivious to the pounding on the door. 'You. I've seen you. You're the girl from before.'

The girl simply stood and stared at him, she smiled and turned, running towards the back door. He made a move to pursue her but the doors behind him burst open, hands picked him up by the back of his jacket and dragged him backwards, outside, into darkness. Into death.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

This Chapter I'll admit is much shorter than the first, but I wanted an update and to leave it on this cliff hanger, so I decided not to shoehorn anything else in, the plot will begin to pick up a lot more speed in the next Chapter and some of the mystery will start to be peeled back. You can probably extrapolate a few details for yourself as it stands now but I assure you there's no chance you'll see what I have planned for poor Richard. I'd like to thank everyone who has read through this so far and would urge you to stick with me as we hit the twists and turns of this plot.

There are two minor 'cameos' because in all honesty I just could not help myself, feel free to scald me for those, I know I deserve it.

I'm looking forward to whatever input you have to offer.

Silent Hill: Death Becomes Him

Chapter Two

Air flooded into his lungs as Richard threw his eyes open, looking up at the clean white ceiling, his muscles still burned as though they'd been torn apart. Had they? Slowly he sat up to fix his eyes on the surrounding walls, they were all clean. It seemed as he awoke that all his experiences had been a bad dream, but like all bad dreams some primal instinct, an instinctive response to danger, kept on tugging at the back of his mind and continued his heart racing. He dipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the leather of his wallet, but that proved nothing, he could've fallen asleep with that in his pocket, maybe that's why it had featured in his dreams.

He retraced his steps in his head, slid off the bed and found his eyes drawn to the night stand and the little drawer. Kneeling down slowly he brushed his fingers over the drawer's handle before he jerked it open. There was something, a small brown paper parcel, lying in the drawer. Reaching out for it Richard felt a bizarre rush of eagerness and anxiety over its contents. His anxiety and hesitance seemed to amplify as he lifted the parcel up. He seated himself on the bed and untied the twine around the package before whipping away the parcel paper in one flick of his wrist, he couldn't deal with any more suspense.

'A gift.

-Walter.'

He read the text scrawled across the front of the picture frame, it looked like it was scrawled in... blood? Richard hardly registered dropping the frame, all he heard was the soft crack as the front cracked upon hitting the floor. He stared down between his knees at it for a long few minutes before he mustered up the courage to reach down to it again, flipping it over and opening up the back, as he lifted it away it revealed a symbol sketched upon the back, something he'd seen before. Three rings arranged in a triangular pattern within another two circles, symbols adorning the edges and the empty space around the innermost rings. For a moment he thought this was drawn in blood too, but he lifted it from the frame and saw it was only red ink.

He flipped the photograph over in his hands, it was of a woman and a boy, her stood behind him with both hands placed on his shoulders, both smiling broadly. The mere sight of such unashamed happiness conjured a smile on his own features, but he wondered, why give him this? Was this boy him? There was still some sort of barrier in his brain, why could he not remember?

'A gift?' Richard repeated the words as he opened up his wallet, folded the photograph and tucked it inside, he looked at the driver's license again, 'Richard Syme.' Just who was he? The same old questions were buzzing around his head and hitting the same old brick wall as they did so. He stood up, feeling somewhat drained despite only just waking up and headed for the door. He encountered no one in the hallway and no one as he descended the stairs and passed out of the door into the fog he likewise anticipated. He sighed, standing at the top of the short flight of steps and dropping his head. 'Wheeler...'

The thought hit him suddenly, his head snapped up and in one bound he was down the steps and had taken off in the direction of Balkan Church. He took off so fast that he didn't notice who came out of the Hotel after him, the one who'd observed his progress thus far; blue coat, scruffy hair, Walter Sullivan.

The child was still clinging on to him, he looked back towards his younger self. 'Do you think he liked his gift, little Walter?'

The man in question was pelting down the streets of the sleepy little town like a man possessed, Wheeler had known more about what was going on than he let on, something had him spooked and something that could spook a police officer was bad news to begin with. He skidded to a stop as another thought hit him, the idea that the church, Wheeler, all of it was a dream. 'It was, wasn't it?'

His suspicions were put on hold when he saw the church spire rising out of the fog, for now that was his destination, regardless of whether there was someone there or not. He started walking again, even though each step felt like a death knell, it was true what Wheeler said. 'There's something wrong with this town.' The thought stayed with him as he walked, the fog wasn't totally out of the ordinary, but the missing people and the crushing and oppressive isolation. Something was just _off _about the whole place. If Wheeler, if Wheeler indeed existed, had been right and they were the last two people in town then it was probably in their, or his as the case may have been, to get the hell out as soon as possible.

As he came to the church he decided to try the front door again, dream or not it transpired that it was indeed blocked. Fear had reared its ugly head again and was creeping up his spine, digging icy cold claws into his flesh, he shivered, he didn't want _that_ to happen again. Anything but that.

He crept around the side of the church, his eyes found the other door, his hand clasped the handle and he slipped quietly inside. As he entered he cast his eyes about, to the altar, then the doors.... the doors which weren't blocked at all, leaving only one explanation: there was someone in the building with him. His body tensed, he neglected the central passage this time, edging down the side of the pews and heading for the double doors. He was not obstructed, not set upon or jumped out at and that only served to make his situation all the more chilling for him, he soon felt crushed under his mounting anticipation. He reached the door, twisted the handles and the doors swung open easily, cutting through the fog and opening up to the empty streets.

Richard stepped back out into the streets, his eyes staring blankly into the fog, that was it, that was all. He was absolutely and unquestionably alone. He dropped to his knees in the street, his head dropping and his eyes boring into the pavement. He raised his eyes up to the sky he couldn't see through the impenetrable fog, spread his arms and raised his voice in a scream that might well have been silent for all the people that it reached.

All of a sudden he felt constricted, his arms were bound, affixed to some kind of chair, an uncomfortable rigid old wooden thing which felt about as old as the room it sat in, where was he? A horrible high pitched buzz filled his ears and he tried to thrash his head but that too was bound in place, fixing his eyes straight ahead on the man in the clean cut suit. As Richard gritted his teeth the buzz resolved itself into words.

'The empty street could have meant loneliness, I imagine you are quiet lonely here stuck in this room all day.' he recognised the voice, but he couldn't pin it down to a name. 'You mentioned a great deal of blood, perhaps this represents some form of violence, do you know what that might be?'

The question was obviously meant to bait him, but he had no idea what Kaufmann wanted to hear.

'No... I was in a church... this isn't real.'

'No, this **is **real, Richard. There's nothing that you can gain from submitting to your delusions, you have to stop blocking out reality and accept that you need help.' Accept reality? Delusions? Was this some kind of mental hospital? Was that it? The whole thing, had it been one big nightmare?

'But I was there, in Silent Hill and there was something... something out in the fog.'

The Doctor, as Richard presumed he was, shrugged off these ramblings. 'You are in Silent Hill, you're in Alchemilla Hospital, remember? You're safe here, no harm will come to you just as long as you cooperate with us and let us help you.' The door towards the corner of the small cell swung open and an orderly peered through.

'Dr. Kaufmann, they're waiting for you with the next patient.'

'Hm and who is it now?' Kaufmann asked, disregarding Rick's continual attempts to wrench his way free.

The orderly checked the clipboard in his free hand, scanning his eyes over it quickly before responding. 'H. Mason, they wont wait long.'

Kaufmann turned back towards Richard and gave a sort of half hearted attempt at a warm smile, 'That appears to be all the time we have for today then, think about what I told you and perhaps we can have you out of here sooner than we first thought. Sweet dreams.' Kaufmann rose from his chair, gave Richard a patronising pat on the arm and crossed to the door despite his patient's bellowed pleas.

'Don't leave me like this! Hey! You can't do this to me!' The door slammed shut with a crushing finality, Rick tipped his head back as much as his restraints would allow, how long would they leave him here? Was he just supposed to sit here and rot alone with his fractured thoughts? Then as if to smash what little composure he had left the room shook under the weight of a hulking footstep, Rick's eyes widened and he resumed his struggle against his bonds as the sirens blared inside his brain. If this was reality then he wanted no part of it.

His back arched in agony, the sirens burned into his brain like a thousand red hot spear tips, he gritted his teeth to hold back a scream and fell back as the siren ceased. He sat there, slumped in his wooden prison as he knew his death approached, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. And then he fell forward upon the cold concrete floor, the cold, concrete, blood soaked floor. He sprang up, looked back at the rotted leather straps which had previously held him, he could feel the blood lapping in pools against his unshod feet.

His breathing became shallow again, frantic thoughts hammered at the extremes of his consciousness as he stumbled over to the door, gripping his head lest it burst open, the searing agony had all but abated, but it left a dull continuous pain which was much, much worse. The unrelenting pain made his vision blur and his head spin as he crossed the room and fell against the door, to his surprise it swung open into the equally blood covered hallway, his eyes found the rusted and broken lock as he stepped out. The blood covered walls stretching out into the distance made for a sombre and chilling sight. He padded down the hallway barefoot and chilly from the insubstantial gown he'd awoken in, perhaps this was why he was always cold in his dreams?

With one hand clamped on his chest he felt his heart smashing and straining against its own confines. He read the numbers on the doors as he passed them, '206, 205, 204...' they were going down, meaning that the exit would be most probably in that direction. He trailed his hand along the wall, leaving streaks of blood as he passed the doors and then one shuddered under his touch, as though something had struck it. He recoiled in shock and fear, edging back towards it like a child about to peer under the bed. He slid the viewing slit open, trying to make as little noise as possible pull still garnering a dull metallic shriek.

Looking inside he saw what could only be described as an abomination to nature. Humanoid in form the creature was facing away from him, but he could see clearly its arms bound in place at its sides by what looked like a jacket of its own flesh, a horribly malformed monstrosity, its knees bent inward as it shambled about its cell. It cast it head back at him and its featureless face split open and something struck Rick in the eyes, something sticky which burned like a hot iron. He fell back across the corridor, hearing the creature pounding against the thick door again.

The footsteps had returned, but now through the scalding fluid he could vaguely see the dark shape they accompanied, a hulking muscled figure which filled almost the entire corridor, it slouched as it walked, its knuckles almost hitting the floor, it wasn't even bent at the waist that he could see. It looked down at him, he couldn't even see its face but he could tell it looked on this pathetic weeping thing it had found in the corridor with nothing but the utmost contempt, this feeling of being stared down at was more familiar to Richard than anything or anyone he had thus far encountered.

It stretched out one of its gigantic hands towards him, he tried to swat it back with both arms in vain and then blackness closed in about him.

As his eyelids lifted again his world was bathed in light, he fluttered his eyelids a few times and the soft, uncertain shapes resolved into those of the Balkan Church, specifically the angel who had watched over him throughout his string of nightmares. Sitting up on the pew, Richard looked around, he didn't see Wheeler anywhere and he dared not call out for fear of calling some monstrosity down on himself. He stood up and looked around again, nothing, no one. He was alone again.

He slumped back down, staring between his knees in despair. He didn't know what was real, was he supposed to believe? Kaufmann or Wheeler? Or that strange guy that he'd met in the fog? Were any of them even real? Was he even really in the Church? He looked up at the angel again, 'And just what are you staring at?'

Its silence infuriated him more than any answer which could have been given, if that wasn't an insane thought then he didn't know what was. Clearly his grip on reality, whatever reality was, was growing looser by every passing minute; in all honesty though all concept of time had seceded from his perceptions of the world around him. It was still dark, of course it was, when was it not dark? Shrouded in the fog, light and time were both foreign concepts.

He rose up again, started walking towards the doors, the dull sound of his shoes on the polished floor providing a melancholy background to his thoughts. 'Why is this happening to me?' Reaching the double doors he placed his hands upon them and pushed them open, his eyes widened at what he encountered.


	3. Chapter 3

Welcome back to the madhouse, I'd just like to take a moment to dispense thanks to all of you out there who have elected to delve this far with me, I hope only that you have enjoyed it so much as I have. Specifically I would like to thank **Teen preacher** for a fantastically inspiring review, every time I thought I wasn't doing that well all I had to do was think of this high praise which I by no means deserve, thank **Team Silent** if anyone for giving me such a lovely little Paradise to play with. Additionally I would like to apologize for the shortness of this chapter because it went through a complete rethink about halfway in and I keep wanting to write more but I'm worried about taking too long on updates what with University, I'm going to see if I can break the 3000/4000 words mark with the next chapter so even if it takes a while stick with me please.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Silent Hill: Death Becomes Him

Chapter 3

For a second Walter just stood in the doorway, as if not quite comprehending what was so shocking about his appearance, he looked behind him as if just to confirm that it was he who was the cause of the wide eyed stare. 'Surprised to see me?' he asked as he looked back to Rick. The other man offered no word of an answer. 'Did you like your present? Its something little Walter and I found.'

In a second Rick was on him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in, 'You know something.' he rasped, 'Who am I?'

Walter remained quite infuriatingly calm, 'Your name is Richard Syme you were born and raised in Brahms, you're twenty years old and if you want to see twenty-one you'll keep your hands to yourself.' Rick shoved him away and Walter smoothed his clothes down before continuing. 'She was right about you, you really are your father's boy, I'm surprised She even thinks you're worth the time.' Rick was about to bombard him with another set of questions but he was cut off, 'Alchemilla Hospital, the truth is and has always been buried there. If you want to know who you really are then you'll start there.'

'And you wont tell me... because?'

'That'd be telling, it's much better for your this way.' Walter said, backing off into the fog, 'Most children can't handle separation after all and more besides, don't you think puzzles are fun?' Richard most certainly did not. 'Oh, one more gift before I go.' He rooted in his jacket for a moment and produced a folded map. Richard flipped it open, observing a ring drawn around the Hospital with the charming caption: "Look here, dummy." penned in something red which he really hoped was not blood. When Richard looked up again Walter was nowhere to be seen, dissolved into the oppressive fog. He tucked his latest 'gift' in his back pocket and started to walk.

As he walked he still longed for the company of another human being, any other human being, even Walter was preferable to total isolation, an opinion which would probably be rescinded if Richard were fully aware of who his mysterious helper was. But as in everything, a man in his position was in no place to cast judgements. Alchemilla Hospital, he name rang a bell in his head but he couldn't connect it to anything, anything except Dr. Kaufmann, was that where he kept returning to? Was he in fact there now, in the throes of some psychotic delusion? So many different suspicions cast on his reality, he didn't know who or what to believe. Hell, he didn't even know who and what were really there.

He walked on for what felt like an eternity, this town, was it some sick twisted merry go round? Was he going to walk through this fog for the rest of his lonely days he wondered. Likewise he wondered what he had done to deserve such a cruel fate, he tried to shatter the mental blocks he had come up against with all the force of a speeding juggernaut, but as had been the case already his thoughts rebounded harmlessly off the ethereal barrier and whirled back around his head to torment him. At last he concluded quite spontaneously that it was utterly futile to continue any further without figuring a few things out for himself, so he sat down in the swirling fog on the cold curb to snare some of the thoughts pounding at the edges of his being. His physical form becoming so suddenly stationary only intensified the tearing feeling in the core of his being.

What did he know? Nothing.

Quite a simply and straight forward enquiry that had made, what then did he suspect? He suspected that he was losing his mind, either that or reality was losing its own, like so many other things he couldn't discern what was what. He was or had been in a mental institute, depending on what was delusion and what was reality either of these things could in fact be the case. In either case reality seemed as unfavourable as delusion, for someone who was potentially insane though he felt quite lucid, this state of things felt somehow more natural than the alternative. There was something which just felt wrong about the Hospital, about Kaufmann, about it all. Not least of these things was that the Hospital was sometimes as removed from itself as it was from where he found himself at that moment.

He raised his eyes from the pavement and there in what seemed like the boundless space between him and the other side of the street he beheld what he had longed for, even out in the expanse of this otherworldly haze he saw another human soul and one that he had seen before at that.

'You!' he exclaimed, surging up from his seat and standing tall, his voice had been louder than he intended and it seemed to have startled the girl as she began to retreat down the street. 'Hey wait!' he shouted after her, beginning another strange pursuit. He was pumping his arms and racing as fast as he could but somehow the young girl managed to keep a comfortable lead, barely visible in the fog. If there was someone else there the implications were dramatic, I meant he was there, his experiences were real and that he was quite sane.

But even as this assumption formed it was shattered, his mind broke into pieces as some mighty force struck it like a clenched fist, his head snapped back as his back arched, forcing him to miss his next step and crash into concrete in a shuddering heap. Images flashed before his eyes as though imprinted upon the fog, as it shifted so too did they, he clenched his eyes shut to try and block them out but the darkness only served to make them all the more terrifyingly clear.

A bloodied floor, a prone figure, a knife in his hands. A flash and then darkness.

His eyes opened slowly as the pain which had pierced his head as though it were a bullet subsided at last, he lay still a while, panting, sucking in lungfuls of the gratifyingly cold air. Never before had he been so glad of the ever present chill of Silent Hill, quite the opposite had been the case. Trivial as these thoughts may appear he focussed solely on his breathing and the almost miraculous relief the chill air conducted throughout his form. The alternative, as was becoming a running theme in his time in the strange town, was too gruesome to imagine.

Undeterred by his apathy the thoughts crept inside his skull like the skulking creatures his senses were telling him awaited in the expanses of the mist. From that moment onward he knew that he, Richard Syme, was a murderer and whatever illusion of his innocence and the tragedy of his incarceration was still looming exploded into jagged pieces which tore at his soul. And then the words spoken by his mysterious guide floated to him upon the turbulent winds of thought: _it's much better for you this way... don't you think puzzles are fun?_

What could possibly be misconstrued about this situation that it might appear in any way fun? He had broken one of the most closely held rules of civilised human society, made stark and simple by one of that society's more prominent sects but shared by all: 'Thou shalt not kill.' During his brief stay at the Balkan Church the surroundings had felt altogether strange to him and he assumed that it was the first time he had set foot in such a place for a long while and no wonder. How could he look an angel in the face without its eyes hammering holes through his fragile and cowardly soul? At last he understood the meaning in his solitude. He had done the unforgivable and as such he was a pariah, an outcast even in the company of other humans he was removed from them, little more than a lucid beast. What right did he have to the milk of human kindness?

He was, in a word, crushed. The revelation had quite literally knocked him flat, as much as he knew he should stand he did not, it was as though the weight of his crimes held him fast against the ground. His perceptions now altered dramatically, where once the cold had cooled his burning head it now crept into his bones and froze his very soul. The mist, the ever present implement of his torment dropped this comparatively innocent façade and it was now clear to him that it was nothing less than an instrument of vindication which he had called down on himself.

At length he sat up, not looking forward but simply staring down into his own lap, when he did at last glance up he found the girl was gone, he wasn't surprised. She was probably smart to run from him.

Finally he forced himself to stand again, his shoulders slumped and his head hung in shame, he turned back the way he had come. At first he thought he had made a mistake, but he checked again and without a doubt the road he had come along was... it couldn't be... gone. _Completely obliterated. _Was this what Wheeler had been talking about? Richard didn't have long to ponder, with a deafening crunching the ground around him shook and a jagged crack began making its way past him, he whirled on one foot, despair replaced by pure survival instinct. But he was too slow, the cracks overtook him, intertwined and the ground fell out from underneath him. Desperately his hands found a purchase and he hung precariously over the swirling expanse of hungry fog.

Above his own terror he discerned footsteps and he never thought he'd be so glad to see that mysterious stranger loom into view. Walter smiled down at him, 'Having fun?' he asked. From anyone else he'd expect it to be a rhetorical jibe, but he got the feeling Walter was being genuine, he shook his head frantically. Walter crouched at the edge, reaching down and grabbing Richard by his jacket with both hands and lifted him with an effortless, almost supernatural strength. He raised Rick up so that he was barely above the pavement and he held him there, now Rick could see, the world around them had disintegrated and Walter stood on a tiny concrete island in a sea of fog. 'I'm still not sure.' Walter said looking towards the sky, there was a distant rumble of thunder and Walter heaved Richard up so they were eye to eye. 'Look for the answers, not the questions.'

With that said he hurled the terrified Richard backwards into the billowing fog, his arms whirled as he fell into the vast expanse of fog but they soon ceased to do so as he realised that Walter had done him a favour. No more would he be taunted by the loneliness of being, of being alone in Silent Hill, even if he fell now forever he need never return to that horrible place of shattered minds and shrouded memories. He closed his eyes, accepting that he was close to death, exactly where he wanted to be following his revelation.

And then he struck the stiff mattress of a uncomfortable bed in Alchemilla Hospital.

Strapped in place he struggled in vain as he cast his eyes frantically around the familiar room, letting out a scream comparable only to a wounded animal as he realised he was not dead, that he had to live with the onus of that terrible deed. 'Leave us.' the voice was unfamiliar, it wasn't Kaufmann, was he even in the Hospital? A hand laid itself across his brow and the same soft voice spoke, 'Richard I need you to calm down ' After one last almighty thrash he realised that he was going nowhere and slumped back onto the mattress. 'Good, now I want you to--'

'Where the hell is Doctor Kaufmann?'

'I thought we'd already been through this.' The out of view man sighed, 'And I thought you were making some progress at last, Doctor Kaufmann has been dead for some time now.' This information struck Richard like a steamroller, he remained stunned a while before he spoke.

'So, who are you?'

Another sigh, 'I'm Doctor Graham. I've been seeing you throughout your treatment here at Alchemilla.' Another layer of what had felt like reality peeled away and left Richard at the mercy of his psychosis, how could Kaufman be dead? He had spoken to him, seen him, but maybe it was only his subconscious, the part of him that knew he needed help. Perhaps Doctor Graham could provide him that help.

'Well then Richad, shall we start where we left off?' Richard did not hear this question, he was already falling again, through fog, his fevered delusions had already swept him off again it seemed and then he plunged into the depths of something warm. His eyes snapped open and all he saw was red, blood red, he screwed up his stinging eyes again and thrashed his limbs, desperately trying to claw his way to the surface if there was one at all. He was almost overcome by his reflex to inhale when he finally felt his arms find the open air, kicking his legs he propelled himself coughing and spluttering into the musty air of the dank four walled room above.

He dragged his weary form out onto the solid ground, the blood he saw already falling away in a drain at the room's centre, as though it had never been there. He rolled onto his back and sucked in lungful after lungful of stale air, his lungs burned for nourishment which he could not provided, already he could feel his heart picking up pace again as he beheld the blood drenched and rusted surroundings. Rusted shower heads dripped blood on the already marked floor, each open fronted cubicle hosted a pool of gore which streaked off in a grisly path as though a number of people had been dragged from the room forcefully. All these gruesome paths converged at one point, the single door which promised release from the nightmare of Richard's surroundings, or spelled certain doom if he should walk those halls lightly.


	4. Chapter 4

See Disclaimer in first chapter.

This is long ovdue for update, I apoligize but I've been busy what with University. It really took me a while to bring myself back to writing this but like I said I'm following through with this one. So without further ado...

Silent Hill: Death Becomes Him

Chapter 4

When he emerged from the shower room Richard became aware of one thing, one thing that he had expected fully but still feared absolutely. Blood, everywhere. The smell and sight of it repulsed him, he felt light headed even as he stepped into the hallway. He knew very well where he was and he knew that the answers to all his questions were buried somewhere in the bowels of Alchemilla Hospital, he was somewhere within those walls, his identity was waiting for him. Though part of him was as much repelled by the idea as he was by the bloodied corridors it was overridden by a still stronger compulsion to know the truth which had been denied to him so far, though crushed by his emerging memories he was spurred on by the idea of ratifying or disproving them. Perhaps this was some sort of reactionary survival instinct surfacing to soothe his much abused mind, regardless he began walking.

No other sound reached his ears as he paced along the abandoned corridors of the hospital, a chill ran up his spine despite the warmth of the place and he pulled his jacket close about him, in the trauma of his awakening he had not noticed that he was in his usual attire. He quickly lost himself in the labyrinthine hallways and yet at the same time he felt that he was getting closer to where he needed to be. He passed by the doors that lined the corridors, not daring to peer inside for fear of what horrors he may find, or what might find him. He walked and waited for something, anything, some kind of sign.

His foot struck something in the gloom, he stepped back in shock, his eyes darting down. Tentatively he knelt down and extended a hand, his fingers wrapped around something smooth and cylindrical. 'A flash light?' He stood up and flipped the little torch on, illuminating the gore covered corridor ahead. Almost as quickly he switched it off and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket, if it was a choice between fumbling in the dark and actually seeing such a place in all its depravity Richard thought he was far better off in the darkness. Ignorance is bliss after all.

Still he felt something drawing him on, as though he were following a map inside his head, some sense beyond his usual perceptions was directing him to somewhere he was unaware of. Then all of a sudden he heard a shuffle in the gloom, a footfall of some kind, his hand leapt to the light in his pocket, his head swam with terrifying images of deformities and they brought him to a stop. Did he dare reveal himself? The footfalls grew closer, they were just behind him now, he grabbed the light and spun around, clicking it on to reveal something he would not have imagined in his wildest dreams.

In the deepest, darkest recesses of his imagination Richard would never have imagined that he would see another human face.

The young woman at first recoiled from the sudden and bright light, but as she peered through her face resolved into an expression of mild anxiety, at the time Richard thought nothing of it and moved the light away, half illuminating the both of them. From what he could see she was wearing a loose turtle neck sweater and dark red, almost brown jeans. As for her face she a natural unadorned physical charm which clashed a tad with her homely clothing, just as her dark brown hair framed her pale features.

'S-sorry.' Richard stammered, overcome by his superlative good fortune at finding another living person in such a place, for at least a second all thoughts of guilt and self hatred slid away into the darkness where they belonged.

'No, that's okay, you just startled me is all.' she replied, her voice betrayed her obvious fear of something more than her expression. Richard could understand that, anyone in their position ought to be scared. They'd have to be crazy not to be. 'Are you... lost?'

'Lost? Uh, I just sort of found myself here.' The young woman before him looked him over closely, quizzically. 'Is... is something wrong?'

She withdrew a little as though shocked by the question. 'No, nothings wrong it's just... have you seen my mother anywhere around here?' Richard shook his head almost mournfully, he hadn't seen anyone and if the tortured figures he had encountered were real then it didn't bode at all well for anyone else. 'Oh, that's too bad.' The young woman turned to leave, heading in the direction she had come from.

'Hey wait, its probably not a good idea for us to be wandering around alone.' It wasn't so much that Richard was concerned for her safety, although that was a part of it, he couldn't bare the thought of being left alone. 'Besides I didn't get your name.'

'Angela.'

Richard sighed with relief as she paused, looking back at him, his expression lightened a little. 'I'm Richard. Could I... perhaps come along with you its just, well, I don't really want to be alone somewhere like this. It's this town, there's something wrong with it.' Angela simply nodded and then began walking with Richard in tow. 'So your mother, did she live here?'

There was a brief moment of silence before Angela spoke. 'It's complicated, I think she did but then, I think something happened, something...' she trailed off, apparently lost in thought, 'I think she called me here.' Although she couldn't see Richard cocked his brow at this, she seemed a strange young woman but at the same time he felt somehow reassured by a presence other than his own. They walked on in silence for a while, each aware of what was waiting in the dark for them but neither wanting to voice it, Richard was not superstitious and he had never been religious but what he had seen and experienced could only be described as demonic.

Rick paused, he touched Angela on the shoulder, she whirled and knocked his hand away sharply. 'Do you hear that?'

Angela stood and listened, there was a faint thumping coming from somewhere close by. Richard's heart sank, it sounded almost like... 'Footsteps?' Richard audibly gulped as the word left Angela's lips. Richard listened intently and it seemed as though the footsteps were dying away, he let out his relief with a soft sigh.

He hadn't even noticed his breathing had accelerated or that Angela was looking at him, clearly confused. He steadied himself and reigned in his breathing for what felt like the thousandth time since he had come to Silent Hill. 'We have to leave,' he panted, 'now. There must be a way out around here somewhere.'

He cast the light over Angela, standing away from him at the other side of the corridor. She looked vulnerable to him, though she didn't look scared as he did she seemed to him somewhat delicate, fragile. He moved the flash light down the corridor and half recoiled from the bloodstains before reluctantly moving on. He walked slowly so he knew Angela could stay close by, just as much for his sake as her own.

They moved almost silently, listened for thundering footfalls which might very well herald their doom. Suddenly he stopped.

Ahead of them where the corridor branched something was fixed to the wall. With its arms spread and pinned in place by long stakes through its hands and then driven through its leathery wings and into the wall it looked almost as though it had been crucified. The blank patch of skin where a face ought to have been was by now becoming a familiar sight but no less shocking as was its malnourished form. 'What is it?' Angela asked looking over his shoulder, Rick didn't reply, he drew closer, almost entranced. He reached up and jumped back as the deformed creature thrashed its head about, it was still alive. After whipping its head in vain it seemed to settle and its head dropped again as it had been when they'd arrived.

'We have to get out of here.'

Angela looked down both hallways to little avail, there was little to no light down either passage. 'We might have to split up,' she suggested. Richard didn't like the idea one bit but he couldn't argue the pracicality, he kept his mouth shut. 'I'll go this way.'

'Hey hold on,' Richard caught hold of Angela's wrist as she moves away, she jerked her arms and threw his hand off, looking very annoyed, 'take this.' He offered her the light he'd found, he preferred the dark anyway. She reached out and practically snatched the light without so much as touching his hand, without another word they both moved off down their respective corridors, Richard took the left branch. He moved as usual, quietly as he could, listening.

He wasn't far down the corridor when he began to hear it. The footsteps, heavy and irregular, the footfalls of his shambling brute of a nightmare. Hastily he tried the door closest to him, looked, he threw all his weight towards it but it didn't budge, the footsteps grew closer.

Rick crossed the hallway, trying the next door he came to which swung open, he practically fell through and swung it closed behind him, turning the lock and backing away before walking into something. He heard something shudder and backed up the way he'd come, now halfway between the door and whatever he'd hit he saw a light flick on overhead. It flickered a second before beaming out clear and strong. The first thing that drew his eye wasnot the table he'd bumped against, it was the quivering zipped up bag lay on top of it.

The footsteps seemed to have stopped but he dared not leave the room. That thing might still have been around. He moved towards the autopsy tabel and as he approached the shuddering ceased, had he imagined it? His hand moved almost of its own will to unzip the bag and as he did a gruesome deformed face leaped up at him. He staggered back and struck the door as the monstrous figure clambered out of its bag.

Nothing, not even the creature in the cell, had prepared him for this. The creatures skin was grey and baggy, hanging from the thing bony limbs and emaciated torso. Its sagging breasts hung down almost to its legs and it fixed its empty bleeding eye sockets on him as its mouth, covered by skin which had begun to split dispatched an ear shattering cream in his direction. The almost bald head was patched with thin wiry hair which looked almost like spider webs draped down the horrific visage as it stumbled towards him. Richard had frozen, the creature shambled up to him and quite simply placed its arms around him and tightened its grip, almost lifting him off the ground.

For something so seemingly weak its grip was like a vice and no matter how much he thrashed he couldn't break free from it. He wriggled an arm free and pushed back against the creature, it only held on more tightly, he pushed its head backward and managed to free his other hand. Gripping its deathly face he placed his thumbs over the empty sockets and thrust them in. The creature screamed and recoiled as it released him, he felt air rush into his lungs and nearly lost his balance. The creature bean to spasm and Rick saw his chance, he took up a scalpel from the trolley beside the door and threw himself at the monstrosity. They fell as a heap of flailing limbs and it was only after a long quiet moment that Richard rose.

Looking down on the creature he felt almost saddened, the scalpel protruding from its chest brought back a flash of a much older confrontation. A kitchen, a shuddering body and his blood splattered hands. He was rocked by the brief flash and with a moan he fell and blacked out.

The room in which he awoke was quite different from the one he had fought in. The tiled walls were not streaked in blood, no dirt or rust was present and it looked as though it could still be used, the glaring light above made his head hurt, perhaps though it was the thoughts hammering against that ever present mental barrier, so afflicted was he that the quivering of the body bag went unnoticed. He stood, propping himself against the wall and cradling his head in both hands, he removed them only to stare at his fingers, not stained with puss and blood as he had expected. It was only then that his eyes slid across the floor and found their way to the now still bag.

He thought he knew what was coming and he was hesitant to approach, he made for the door first to find something was holding it in place, something had it jammed. He turned back towards the bag, strode across the room and jerked the zip down. The face which surged up at him was less gruesome than that which had previously haunted him. As he stumbled back in shock Walter lifted his legs from the body bag and hopped to the floor, laughing all the time. 'You're really too easy. So are you enjoying your puzzle yet?'

'No, no I'm not enjoying this. I killed someone and I don't know why, my-- my head is tearing itself apart looking for answers which just aren't there! To top it all off I can't even tell what's real any more!'

Walter only smiled before fishing something out of his pocket and holding it out for Ricahrd to see, he read the key tag aloud. 'M. Kaufmann. This key is real. This is what's going to unlock the truth for you.' Richard took it slowly. 'You can find the other pieces yourself.' Richard was at the key in his hand as Walter crossed the room and slid down the bolt at the top of the door, he turned to find him standing in the open doorway. 'You better hurry up though, she wont last all that long without you.'

Rick looked at the key in his palm again and he raised his eyes to see that Walter had already started to go, he could only hear his quick but sure footfalls growing steadily fainter. 'Angela.' He slipped the key in his back pocket and stepped through the door, looking back momentarily at the empty body bag before pulling the door shut. The halls, like the room appeared in decidedly better condition, nor rust or blood and even though the lights were dim they at least worked.

Richard immediately slumped against the opposite wall as a white hot shaft of pain struck his heart, it only lasted a second but it was enough to nearly lay him low. Panting he pushed himself back up and trudged back toward the junction. There was no pinioned body awaiting him, he put a hand to his head, the evidence towards him losing his grip on reality was growing rapidly.

He didn't get far down the corridor when he saw etched in a dusty plate on the door the words 'Dr. M. Kaufmann.' He looked at the key again before sliding it into the lock. The door creaked as it opened and Richard looked through to the office dominated by a desk and several certificates of qualification all under the same name Dr M. Kaufmann. It was only once he stepped inside that he noticed the dust covered filing cabinet to one side of the room, a number flased through his head. 203.

Rooting through the files kicked up a lot of dust, but for the first time he got the sense that things were about to become clearer. All thought of Angela had faded for the moment, she might not have been in that room but his identity was buried somewhere in that dust. His eyes lit up as he came across the file he wanted, he flipped it open and disappointment instantly crashed down. Only a single sheet of yellowing paper was inside clipped to a photograph, a perfect copy of the one Walter had given him, he compared them just to be sure before folding them both and pocketing them. His eyes scanned the sheet as he read aloud.

'Patient 203-Note 2: Patient appears to have no recollection of the incident in Brahms or of subsequent events prior to his transfer to Alchemilla, possible trauma induced memory loss, most likely temporary. Patient has displayed violent tendencies probably absorbed from paternal influence, records indicate several incidents of violence connected with his father.

Patient 203- Note 7: Patient appears to be suffering psychotic delusions and hallucinations, affliction does not appear to have been stimulated by administration of any treatment and so we must assume that his psychosis is much more deeply rooted than first we thought. Closer observation is required.' Richard's hands shuddered as he held the sheet and all of a sudden he tore it in half, discarding the pieces on the dusty floor and cradling his head in his hands. Sitting down he leaned against the cabinet and pounded it with his elbow. With a sigh his head dropped to his palms again and only then did he think of Angela and of Walter's warning.

As he emerged into the hall again he moved with a slow and almost resigned pace, he looked like a wounded animal plodding on to its death and part of him thought that this might have been around the corner. For the moment at least he had a purpose and a drive, even if he seemed otherwise, he had to reach Angela. He would certainly lose control left to his own devices. Perhaps he would never find himself. Perhaps.


End file.
